


Pride And Joy

by bumblefuck



Category: Generation Kill, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-05
Updated: 2010-10-05
Packaged: 2017-10-12 10:33:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/123969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bumblefuck/pseuds/bumblefuck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Dean and Ray argue about a car, and one of them is proved right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pride And Joy

"No, no, not like I'm saying you should give up your car or anything," Ray quickly backpedals, because Dean's face is slowly turning a colour that looks very unhealthy for both him and Ray, "it's just, I mean look, dude, it's not very inconspicuous, right? Like, how many 1967 Chevy Impalas are there on the streets these days? And how many of them are black? I bet there's just you and some pansy-ass 'collector' who just has it sit there under a dust cover and only takes it out once a year when his need to indulge his objectophilia and jack off all over the upholstery gets too strong to resist any more." His eyebrows raise as a thought occurs to him. "You've never done that, have you? Because that is some weird kinky shit right there, let me tell you. And also I sat in the back seat before so you better tell me if you did anything freaky back there so I know never to get a ride with you ever again." Ray has to pause for breath, there, which means Sam and Walt, who up until Ray had started talking were having a discussion about herbs or some other thing Ray doesn't really give a shit about, lose their stunned expressions and crack up.

Ray ignores them; after all, he has a very important point to make here, or he did until he got distracted by thinking about some dude getting his rocks off with his car. Which reminds him, right, the car.

"But what I'm saying is, homes, your car doesn't exactly blend into the background. Not like Walt's piece of shit-"

"Hey!" interjects Walt, who is again ignored. Beside him, Sam's started wheezing. Ray supposes they should keep an eye on him just in case he asphyxiates from laughing too hard.

"I mean, are the cops blind or stupid or what?"

Dean looks like he's trying to decide whether to strangle Ray or pull out one of his guns and just shoot him there on the street.

"Also," Ray says, "you should maybe think about updating your music. It's like Brad all over again – they did keep writing songs after the eighties, you know."

Sam's knees apparently decide this is just too much and fold, leaving him kneeling on the ground shaking with laughter. Walt's trying hard to wipe the grin off his face as Dean shoots a glare at both of them, but he's not quite succeeding.

"Sorry," he gasps, "I just..." And he loses it again, which sends Sam into another fit as well.

"You," Dean growls, turning to Ray and jabbing a finger right in his face, "are a dead man. I should've left you to that ghost back there."

"Oh please," Ray says, "as if I needed rescuing. I was totally about to salt and burn that bitch when you guys showed up."

"And her holding you in the air and almost gutting you was all part of the plan, huh?"

Ray gapes at Dean, clutching a hand to his chest. "Are you disparaging your pal Ray-Ray?" he says, mock-offended. "And after I saved you from that wendigo and all? I don't know if we can hunt together any more. In fact, we probably shouldn't, for mine and Walt's safety – we wouldn't wanna be spotted because you're driving that ridiculous car, would we?"

"Okay, that's it," Dean snaps. "You can walk back to the motel. Impala rules are: driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole, and people who bitch about my baby get their asses thrown out."

"Fine," Ray retorts, "we will. Come on, Walt." He marches down the street in the direction of the motel. With a longsuffering sigh, Walt turns to Sam and Dean.

"I'll see you back there," he says.

"You can still ride with us, you know," Sam says, Dean nodding along, but Walt shakes his head.

"Nah, I'd better go with him," Walt says, and then he too walks off into the darkness. Sam and Dean can hear Ray's talking start up after a few seconds, and they know Walt has reached him.

"Can't believe that little asshole talked shit about my car," Dean grumbles as he climbs in the driver's seat. The engine's purr is a familiar, comforting sound as they pull away from the kerb. "You're not gonna land us in jail, are you, baby?"

"Well, actually he had a point, Dean," Sam says. "And also, have you been... uh... you know... in here? Because I swear my seat was sticky the other day..."

"Shut up, bitch."

"Jerk."

Then Dean catches sight of the red and blue lights in his rearview mirror and the sound of the siren catches up with them. "Motherfucker," he curses under his breath as they pull over.

"Licence and registration, please?" the cops says, and Dean will kill Sam if he starts laughing now.

When the Winchesters arrive back at the motel an hour later than they should have, Ray is highly amused.

"What happened?" he asks. "Cops show up or something?" At Dean's sullen silence, he looks surprised for a moment, then starts laughing. "Holy shit, homes," he says between chuckles, "does this mean you'll take my advice about the music, too?"

Sam's face can't decide if it wants to look terribly amused or contrite; in the end it settles for a mix of the two, which in Ray's opinion just makes him look constipated. "He had to tell the guy we were roleplaying for the _Supernatural_ books to get him to leave us alone." Amusement starts winning out, a little, which makes Sam look better but doesn't do much for his brother's temper.

Dean mutters something insulting under his breath and stomps off to have a shower and nurse his manpain.

"Hey," Ray calls after him, "you should probably jack off in there so you don't feel tempted to do it on the car later."

He doesn't hear Dean's reply properly as it's muffled by the closed door, but he thinks it sounds something like, "Fuck my life..."


End file.
